


Unfit for Parenthood

by haelpack



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, On the Isle, Pre-Canon, life on the isle really sucked guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-09 13:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11670216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haelpack/pseuds/haelpack
Summary: Mal, Jay, Carlos, and Evie went through hell on the Isle, thanks to their parents. The same villains who were known for cursing, killing, and magicking children (and puppies) at every turn.Who ever let these four be parents?





	1. Maleficent & Jafar

It was her godforsaken hair (what kind of villain had _purple_ hair anyway?) that had given her away. Mal was always small and slight thanks to her mother's fae blood that ran through her veins. Usually, it helped. Mal could slip in and out of small spaces, which made stealing and getaways easier than most. It was how she avoided the Gaston twins and their idiot little brother any time they passed; they were giant and couldn't fit through the same gaps in fences that Mal could. 

Mal was thirteen, yet small enough to pass for a nine-year-old.

Mal was a pro at making a clean getaway, but she wasn't too good when it came to planning. For instance, she hadn't thought about what a bad idea stealing from a troll was. Trolls were just as small as little girls, after all. They might not have the best sight, but even troll eyes could spot Mal's shock of purple hair between bland brown crates. She'd been stealing a moldy half-loaf of bread that was already riddled with bite marks. Her stomach felt like it was clawing from the inside out. Her little hands were quick and nimble as she nicked the bread from its plate when the troll's back was turned.

She'd been waiting for the troll to start eating (the disgusting things wouldn't notice an elephant running around if they were stuffing themselves with rotting food), but he turned instead. He noticed his bread was missing. The air seemed to go still as his small troll brain processed what the missing bread meant. He scanned his shack slowly, searching as if the bread had gotten up and rolled away.

Trolls have poor sense of smell, so Mal had still thought she was in the clear. She held the bread close to her chest and pressed herself against the wall silently, her exit just four feet to her right.

"Thief!" The troll had cried as he spotted her purple hair. Mal winced. "THAT'S MY FOOD!" He lunged for her, crashing into the wooden crates. Mal cried out involuntarily and scampered for the loose siding and slipped through. She was quick to slip under a fence (the ground was worn from the girl using it every other day) and thought she was home free. The fence was wooden with no holes that could let anything bigger than a mouse through. She was safe with her prize. 

Then two warty hands grabbed her from behind. Mal yelped and tried to pull away.

"You give me back my food, you little bitch!" The troll growled in her ear. The aforementioned bread fell from Mal's hands as she struggled to break free. She watched as the bread tumbled to the ground, covering itself with dirt and grime. She tried to wiggle out of the troll's grip as he towered over her. His grimy, bony fingers wrapped around her throat and she kicked with all her might, trying- trying- trying-

_WHACK!_

A black pole came out of nowhere, the bottom slamming into the troll's temple. It rolled off of her, dazed from the injury. Mal gasped, the polluted air tasting sweeter than she had ever imagined it could. Her mother's face came into her view, green eyes blazing. Her a millisecond, Mal was happy to see her mother (her mother just saved her!). Then, she noticed the furious look on Maleficent's face.

"Idiot girl!" Maleficent grabbed Mal by the roots of her hair and dragged her to her feet. "I should have let the damned troll kill you! You need to use your brain and think! Getting caught is not an option. What do you have to say for yourself?" Maleficent pulled Mal close so their noses were only inches apart. Maleficent's green eyes glowed, the only magic that worked on the Isle, and pulled Mal's deeply buried magic to the forefront and forced Mal's eyes to glow as well. Mal's eyes burned and she tried not to let hr eyes water.

With her free hand, Maleficent used her scepter to hit the troll again as he shakily stood up. This time, he was out cold.

"I- I'm sorry," Mal choked out, blinking furiously. "I didn't think-" Maleficent threw her to the side and into the fence. Mal felt all the wind rush out of her body and she found herself unable to breathe for a moment.

"That's right," Maleficent said coldly, "you didn't think. You will never be good enough if you don't use your head. I should let the troll eat you for your mistakes. That's what you deserve for getting caught. I never would have gotten caught." Maleficent turned with a flourish, leaving her daughter heaving for air on the ground. She went out of her way to step on the bread, flattening and tearing it apart until it was no different than the rest of the dirt and rocks in the alley. "No dinner for you."

Mal laid there, staring where her bread had been. Her eyes still glowed emerald as her stomach cramped so hard she could have cried.

***

Sticky fingers were second nature for Jay. He knew all the tricks, thanks to his father, and luckily he was a natural at stealing. He was a good thief, no matter what an oxymoron that was. But even if he was a good thief, that meant nothing if there was nothing to steal.

The day was coming to a close and Jay had nothing to show for it. It was the worst time of the month, the week before the barges from Auradon came with with food and trash and supplies. Everyone was running on nothing and that meant there was less out there for Jay to steal. No food, no water, the toys he could find were either broken or worthless. Any gold was already in Jafar's shop or was being sold for food and being hidden away.

This time of the month was hard, as everyone on the Isle was extra secretive with what they managed to hold onto this long since the last barge came. Jay had no idea where to turn. He could try Lady Tremaine's, but she was known for holding onto whatever precious goods slipped onto the Isle. He wouldn't be the first who stole from her and would there be anything left at this point? Last month, Ursula was able to jack up her prices at the fish shop because she'd had extra food. Jay had hit her home quite well and had ended up being chased away by Uma and her crew.

But the fish shop was closed when he got there. There was no food to sell. Which meant Ursula had nothing of worth with which she could get food. It was another dead end.

Jay didn't know what to do as the Isle got darker. Though the Isle was always dark (thanks to the ever-present storm cloud that hung just above it), it darkened even more as the sun disappeared into the night. Jay knew he had no choice. He had to go home.

His stomach twisted into knots as he got closer to his home. He had absolutely nothing in his pockets, nothing he could pass off as they day's loot. He was tempted to swing to his friends' hangout for the night and try to start fresh in the morning, but that would just make his dad angrier.

Jafar was a scary man when he was angry.

It was only when he was passing the store's front, heading to the staircase to his home, when the idea struck. There was no way his dad knew every single thing that was in the shop, right? Maybe Jay _didn't_ have to go home empty-handed.

It was all too easy to slip into the shop, which had been closed up for the day. (That was not a good sign; it meant Jafar was having one of his bad days already.) He walked to the very back of the shop, where the items had been sitting the longest. He found a golden necklace that was missing three of its sapphires and slipped it into his pocket. He grabbed a silver band with no diamond in the groove. And he grabbed a cracked iron teacup that couldn't be useful anymore, but was better than nothing.

Jay decided he didn't want to push his luck and left it with just those three items. He crawled through the open window, closed it gently, and made his way up the steps to his front door. He found Jafar laying on the couch, still in his day clothes.

"Where have you been?" Jafar spit as Jay shut the door. Jay's stomach twisted. Empty hands or no, this was not going to be a good night. Jafar was definitely drunk (he'd probably traded something with Captain Hook for some of the pirate's rum). Jafar was an angry drunk.

"It's slim pickings out there," Jay said, fighting to keep his voice light. "It'll be hard to find anything until next week." Jafar huffed.

"I bet that street rat could find _something_ to steal. It's not so hard." Jay wanted to ask, "Well, if it's so easy, why don't you do it?" but he managed to hold his tongue. Still, his face burned with a combination of embarrassment and rage. It was how he tended to feel whenever Jafar compared him to Aladdin.

He pulled the three items from his deceptively deep pockets and showed them to Jafar. "This was all I could find."

Slowly, clumsily, Jafar sat up and pawed the items out of Jay's hand. Jafar's eyes were bloodshot as he examined the necklace. He counted the sapphires slowly before stilling.

"Where did you find these?" Jafar asked lowly. Jay hesitated for just a moment.

"Lady Tremaine's." The hand came fast and hard, slapping Jay across the face. Jay didn't try to defend himself. He didn't even lift his arms to block his face. He just let Jafar slap him once, twice, three times.

" _This came from my shop!_ What are you trying to pull, boy?" Jafar shoved Jay back into the wall. Jay felt the weak wood break under his weight. His head snapped back, smacking hard on the wood as well.

"Nothing," Jay managed to say. He blinked, stars shining bright in his eyes. "Nothing! I found them at Lady Tremaine's, I swear!"

"LIAR!"

"We sold them to her two months ago!" Jay cried, finally ducking as Jafar's fist went through the wall. All at once, the screaming stopped. Jafar pulled his hand out of the wood, ripping more of the wall off as he did so, and blinked dumbly.

"Oh. Well, it's still not an acceptable amount of stuff." Jafar stumbled back and headed to his room. "Do better tomorrow. And fix up that wall, you good for nothing ingrate!"

Jay watched his father amble off into the only bedroom and slam the door shut. His head throbbed and his bones ached as he pulled himself back to his feet. He had two huge holes to the outside world to fix and no wood to fix it. Jay looked at the couch, which was more wood than cushion, and decided it would have to do.

Jay could sleep on the floor.


	2. Cruella & The Evil Queen

Carlos had always been a quiet, skittish boy. Everyone, including his own friends (even if "friends" was a loose term), wondered how a kid on the Isle could grow up to be like that. Well, if they had ever been in Hell Hall with Cruella, they would know. Life with Cruella was, well, cruel.

Cruella was a little... strange in the head. She had a stuffed dog sewn into her collar that she talked to and referred to as "Baby". Her idea of a hobby was brushing her many furs (the ones that hadn't been stolen, at least). And she often forgot she even had a son. Carlos learned as a toddler that being loud at home heeded bad results. More often than not, he would scare Cruella when she was having her moments of forgetfulness. This cause her to scream, yell, and quite literally chase him out of the house with a broom. He learned to be quiet and quick, as those two qualities kept his mother from hitting him. Well, most of the time.

Carlos was silent as a mouse as he crept into Hell Hall that night. He'd been out late, following his gang as they caused mischief and fought in turf wars. Carlos never really cared for that sort of thing, but he found it was safer to be included and go along with it, or else run the risk of being the gang's next target. So he'd gone along, and now was coming home far later than was safe. Cruella was most unpredictable when tired.

He slipped through the window in the hallway, which was on the opposite side of the house from Cruella's room. It was also on the opposite side from Carlos's room (a broom closet withe a pile of furs he used as a bed in the corner), but he needed to focus on one problem at a time. Step one, get inside the house.

He ambled in easily enough, not even cursing when he pinched his finger in the window frame. He closed the window so slowly it was painful, but the window often groaned when shutting so it was necessary. 

He slid down the hall, evading every creak in the floorboards. He pulled the door to his room open when-

BAM!

Carlos jumped a mile high and whipped around to see what had made the noise. He hadn't closed the window correctly. It hadn't latched and thanks to the botched springs, it had slammed back open in a gust of wind.

"WHO IS IN MY HOUSE?" Cruella's high, screechy voice broke the almost devastating silence that had followed the crash. Carlos's face drained of cover and he did the only thing he could; he dove into his room.

He buried himself under the furs, hoping his hair and clothes would camouflage in with the whites and blacks when she came to investigate.

"WHO'S THERE?" Cruella crooned. Carlos could see her shadow on the wall and saw that she was stroking Baby as she sauntered. He saw the moment she noticed the opened door. He hadn't closed it, knowing the sound and the movement would have sealed his fate sooner. 

Silently, he wished on every star in the sky (not that you could see them on the Isle, but still) that she would close the door and walk away.

"Hiding in the closet, are you?" Cruella said, softer this time. More deadly. Carlos cowered, shaking in his worn-out, cracked leather boots.

She appeared in the doorway, appearing to be upwards of seven feet tall. Of course, Carlos's fear was exaggerating things, but she was still formidable and terrifying. Cruella held a fire poker in her hand, despite the fact that the fireplace in Hell Hall was clogged and entirely unusable.

Carlos willed himself to melt into the floor, but of course he stayed exactly where he was. He didn't even breathe. Cruella stalked closer, her gripping tightening and writhing on the metal poker. Carlos wanted to close his eyes, but his instincts told him to stay alert and to keep his eyes on the predator- his mother.

Her eyes locked with his and her face contorted into one of absolute rage. "YOU!" She howled, raising the poker above her head. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" She swung and Carlos sprang up to avoid being struck. 

"Mom, it's me-"

"INTRUDER! THIEF! VAGRANT! OUT! OUT" Cruella screeched, hitting him in the back with each word and insult. " _OUT!_ "

Carlos found himself face first on the ground, his mouth full of dirt. His back ached and stung- he'd surely been cut a few times by the poker. Cruella stood tall on the porch, brandishing her weapon.

"And if you ever come back, I'll skin you like a pup!" She promised lowly. Satisfied that he would leave, she turned and shouted. "Carlos! I'm hungry, fix Mommy something to eat. All this running is wearing me and poor Baby out."

The door shut with a final sound. Carlos groaned, sitting up. His back was on fire. And he knew he was just going to get more of it, since he wasn't going to be able to make his mother any food while he was locked out and seen as the enemy.

The poor boy had more bruises and scars than he did freckles.

***

Grimhilde, as the Evil Queen liked to be known by her friends, had thought no one could rival her in beauty on the Isle- finally, a place where she was the fairest of them all! Everyone on the Isle hated Auradon and its princesses anyway, so really it was like Grimhilde _was_ the fairest, which was good enough. Yes, it was good enough, so long as she didn't have to see posters or promo reels of that bratty little Snow White with prominent cheekbones and heart-shaped lips.

Grimhilde had a daughter, thanks to one of the men she liked to keep in her company at night. Who was the brat's father? No one really know, much less Grimhilde.

Oh, how Evie wanted to know who her father was. The blue-haired princess longed for a parent to actually pay attention to her. Her mother was too absorbed with her reflection to do more than teach Evie how to apply blush and mascara.

It was no surprise that Grimhilde didn't realize how much Evie was becoming like her former stepdaughter. Not in personality- no, Evie was far more devious and curious about the world than Snow White had ever been. Part of that came from the neglect; Evie discovered rather young that the best way to pull her mother's attention from the mirror and onto her was to get in trouble. So get in trouble she did.

Evie was twelve at the time and slowly growing out of her awkward stage, when the incident happened. She'd stolen from Lady Tremaine, purposefully getting caught. The old woman had dragged Evie by the arm halfway across the island to drop her off at the castle she called home. Evie's stomach swirled, clenching with fear and fluttering with excitement. At least someone was _noticing_ her. It was all she wanted. Even if the consequences were.... less than ideal.

"Do you know what your child just did?" Lady Tremaine demanded, having stormed into their home without so much as a knock. Evie tried to protest at that, but the woman's grip on her arm was really starting to hurt.

Grimhilde was touching up her eyebrows (though she would swear up and don that they were naturally that dark and sleek), and did not turn away.

"What now?" She asked absently.

"Stole from me, the little thief!" Lady Tremaine said, shaking Evie. Evie let out a small whimper, but it was ignored by the others. "It's bad enough I have Jafar's bastard stealing from me every other night, I don't need her doing it as well. Fix it, or else that'll be it for you and my salon!" Lady Tremaine ended her threat by throwing Evie across the room and straight into her mother's side. Evie tried to stop herself, catch her feet on the floor, something, but it was no use. She plowed right into her mother's side, knocking them both to the ground.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" Evie shouted, scrambling away from her mother. Grimhilde snarled about to shout and scream and let Evie have it, but something stopped her. Grimhilde gaped openly, staring at her daughter.

"Um, Mom?" Evie furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, but her mother stood, pulling her up alongside. Grimhilde's eyes never left Evie's face. Evie's cheeks flushed with pleasure. Her mother had never really _looked_ at her before, never really seen her. Evie had never been told she was pretty by the one woman who's opinion actually mattered. But the look of awe on her mother's face-- it was worth it.

"You... you're.... Evie..." Grimhilde said softly. Her hand reached up and for a moment Evie thought she was going to lovingly stroke her cheek and tell Evie how beautiful she was.

She was half right.

Like a switch, Grimhilde's awed expression soured into a glare. Her hand snatched something off of the vanity. It was a pair of scissors; they were small and sleek, the kind used to trim hair. Evie tilted her head, waiting for the compliment.

"You're beautiful." Evie didn't have a second to preen when Grimhilde brought the scissors down and swiped them once, twice over her rosy cheeks.

Evie cried out and fell to the floor, holding her bloody cheeks in her hands. Grimhilde's glare faded into something more satisfied, knowing that she'd just marred Evie's face with two awful scars right down the cheekbones. Right where one would correctly apply blush.

"Well, you were."


End file.
